The dining hall itself was vast and intimidating. In the center sat an incredibly long mahogany table lined with high-backed chairs, which felt a lifetime away as we stood frozen at the entrance. To the left, a set of big oak doors remained tightly shut. I could see that several pack members were already seated, talking in low, aristocratic murmurs. At the very head of the table sat a grand, ornate chair that practically radiated authority. It was a seat fit only for a king—for Fredrick.
"Come on," Zita whispered, giving me a gentle nudge forward.
The moment our feet crossed the threshold, the murmurs died instantly. Every single eye in the room snapped toward us, burning into my skin.
"Your Highness," the pack members spoke in unison, immediately standing up to bow their heads to Zita.
